


Fear No Evil

by lauraschiller



Category: Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Boreth, Episode: s02e12 Through the Valley of Shadows, Episode: s06e03 Barge of the Dead, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hybrids, Klingon Religion, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Revisionist History, Time Crystals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauraschiller/pseuds/lauraschiller
Summary: To save her half-human daughter, Miral travels to the spiritual heart of the Klingon Empire, only to meet what she least expected: another outsider. (This story has been cross-posted to FF.net.)
Relationships: B'Elanna Torres & Miral Torres, L'Rell/Original Voq (Star Trek), Miral Torres & Tenavik, Voq & Tenavik
Kudos: 12





	Fear No Evil

Boreth would have been awe-inspiring even if one did not know the ancient history and untold power it contained. Built into the side of a dormant volcano, accessible only by a narrow bridge without a rail, and surrounded by sheer drops on every side, it was a place for only the most determined of pilgrims to enter. One such pilgrim held her head high as she walked, defying both the icy mountain winds and her own anxiety. Who was she, to enter this holy place? Did she deserve it after all the mistakes she had made? She pushed the double doors open with all her strength.

“Who are you?”

The voice was cracked with age, but powerful, and came from above her head. To her snow-blinded eyes, the antechamber, lit only by a few torches, was so dark that she could barely distinguish the speaker on the upper gallery. It was warmer inside than outside, but not by much. Two armored guards drew their bat’leths and blocked her way.

“I am Miral daughter of L’Naan, of the House of Krelik.” She pushed back the hood of her coat and held up her gloved hands to demonstrate that she came unarmed. 

“Why are you here?” 

Now that her eyes were adjusting, she could see two figures up on the gallery: the old man, who leaned on a walking stick and had long white hair spilling out from under his hood, and another standing on his right. It was the old man who had spoken.

“I have been told,” said Miral, “That the Order of Kahless holds the power to reach across time and space. Is this true?”

“That depends on who is asking.” This was a younger man’s voice, sharp and arrogant. “What makes you think you are worthy of such power?”

“That is for you to decide, Brothers, if you will hear me out,” she said, lowering her hands slowly to her sides. 

The guards didn’t stop her, which she took as an encouraging sign. Still, exposing her past with all its heartbreak and regret to these silent, formidable monks was a dreadful prospect. She didn’t know which she missed more, her dagger or her privacy, but every sacred text agreed that leaving both behind was the price of coming to Boreth.

“My daughter and I have not spoken in more than ten years. The starship on which she serves is lost in the Delta Quadrant, sixty thousand light years away.” The younger monk shifted in place at the mention of the Delta Quadrant – did they follow the news out here? She had to assume they did – but the old one did not move. “I have written to her, but subspace messages can be lost or ignored. I need … I need to _reach_ her.”

The thought of their last argument was like an open wound that had never stopped bleeding, even after ten years. If B’Elanna had only raised her voice like she used to as a young girl, it would have been easier, but her sullen indifference had been unbearable. _I can’t get through to you, Mom,_ she’d said. _So I might as well give up._

“The Order of Kahless is not a relay system,” said the young monk. “If trivial family matters are your only concern - ”

“Silence, Novice.” The old monk raised his cane, and the young one subsided. “Family matters are never trivial to those who endure them. What would you say to your child if she were here, Miral daughter of L’Naan? Tell us the truth, for your future depends on it.”

Miral had rarely been so tempted to lie in her life. These were the guardians of the most sacred mysteries of the Way of Kahless, and she believed in that. If they judged her unworthy, she didn’t know how she could ever face her comptriots again, and there were so many reasons they might judge her. She had married outside her faith and then failed to make that marriage work. She had tried to teach her daughter to be proud of their heritage, and she had failed at that too. How could she tell them?

And yet, there was an alert intelligence in the way the white-haired one spoke, and the way he leaned forward to watch her. If she lied to him, she had the feeling he would know, and that would mark her as unworthy more surely than anything else.

“My daughter is half human, and has renounced her Klingon side.” She braced herself for outrage and contempt, but neither of the monks reacted. “I would tell her to make peace with it while she still can.”

“For your sake?” the old monk retorted. “Or for hers?”

Miral thought of the dull, defeated look on B’Elanna’s face the last time they had seen each other, when she’d announced she was dropping out of Starfleet Academy. Miral had been shocked and disappointed (too much so; she regretted that now). That was when B’Elanna had said that about giving up. It wasn’t so much the fact that B’Elanna had chosen a different career from what Miral had hoped for, but her lack of follow-through. She had fought for her admission to the Academy, couldn’t she have fought to stay there? 

Miral would never have predicted this ten years ago, but finding out that B’Elanna was serving as Chief Engineer on a Starfleet ship after all had made her ferociously proud. It gave her hope that her girl hadn’t entirely given up after all – not on her dreams, and not on herself. Miral realized now that if she could only see that hope come true, it would be all she needed.

“For hers,” she said, in answer to the old monk’s question, her voice ringing confidently off the ancient stones.

“Then come with me, Miral,” he said, stepping forward. “Your errand is worthy. I will help you.”

“Thank you, Brother … ?”

“Tenavik,” the old man introduced himself. “Son of Voq.”

He pushed back the hood of his long gray cassock and let the torchlight fall squarely on his face. It was white as the snow outside. He was an albino. 

Miral had just enough presence of mind not to gasp out loud.

Q’ronos’ highest centers of civilization had developed in a hot, dry climate, which meant light-skinned Klingons like Miral were rare, and albinos even rarer. Both were looked down upon as being weak. Skin color was not supposed to matter anymore in this modern age, but it didn’t help that the most infamous traitor in history had been an albino. If the patronymic was anything to go by, Brother Tenavik was that man’s son.

No wonder he seemed unfazed by the notion of a Klingon-human hybrid. Here was someone with intimate knowledge of how it felt to be an outsider.

Tenavik dismissed the young novice and the guards with a motion of one white hand and came down the staircase, using his cane for support with every step. Up close, he was no taller than Miral, stooped with age and short of breath, but the red eyes he fixed on her were sharp and shrewd.

“You are surprised,” he said. “So is everyone who hears my father’s name. I do not give it often, but I assumed the mother of one hybrid would not judge the son of another.”

“I meant no disrespect. Only … I was taught a different story about your father.”

“I know.” He set off down a corridor, gesturing for her to follow. “You were told that Voq slew his infant son in the cradle, and the child’s mother killed him for revenge. Very dramatic, yes, but as you can see, it is not true.”

Miral’s head spun. She had been taught to revere the memory of Chancellor L’Rell as a unifier of the Empire, second only to Kahless himself. A statue of her stood in the main square of her hometown, holding a severed head in each hand, as she had appeared in her most famous speech. People, especially women, worshiped her as a symbol of female power. Operas had been written about her … apparently based on a story that was fiction from beginning to end.

“But why … ?”

“Why would the Mother of the Empire tell a lie, you mean? Or why would she send me away?”

“Well … both.”

“To unite her people, of course. She was devoted to them. That much of the legend is true.”

For Miral, as for anyone who followed politics, this made altogether too much sense. Of course the feuding nobles wouldn’t have cooperated with L’Rell when, barely after the first Klingon-Federation war, she’d appeared with a mate who looked human and an albino child. 

“What of your father? How much of the legends are true about him?”

The story of Voq, alias Ash Tyler, had been used as a cautionary tale by isolationists for the past hundred years. It was said that the reason he had killed his son was that the battle of Klingon and human inside him had destroyed his mind. Even Miral’s family and friends had cast Voq’s name up to her when she’d announced she was pregnant with John Torres’ child. How often had she reminded them that she was having a baby, not launching a House Mo’kai operation? Yet, just like Voq, B’Elanna had grown up at war with herself. 

“My father was a hero,” said Tenavik, thumping the floor with his cane for emphasis. “He gave up everything – his son, his mate, his very self – to forge the first alliance between Klingons and humans, and he lived a long and courageous life defending that alliance. I never knew him, but I have known comrades of his who told me so. The lie my mother told was necessary, but a lie nonetheless, and I regret it. It is a weight off my mind every time I find someone I can trust with the truth.”

And do not even think of betraying that trust, was the unspoken threat in those red eyes. 

Miral bowed her head. “You honor me, holy one. I will treat your story with the discretion it deserves.”

Knowing Voq had been a good man shouldn’t make a difference to B’Elanna’s future, logically speaking, but it was a weight off Miral’s mind nonetheless. If one hybrid could manage to reconcile his two sides, perhaps another could as well.

“What you seek is here,” said Tenavik, opening a heavy wooden door, surprisingly with only one hand. Was it her imagination, or had he grown younger as they walked down the hall?

Inside, the room was like a cave, with uneven walls and stalactites that looked as if they might impale you if you made a wrong move. Blue-green crystals sparkled everywhere she looked.  
“What are they?” she whispered, hushed with awe. “They are so beautiful.”

“They are time crystals. Touch one, think of your daughter, and it may bridge the distance between your spirits. But be warned, they are unpredictable. Only the strong of will may use them without falling into madness.”

“I thought they were a myth.” She laughed in disbelief. “It seems this place is full of surprises.”

Tenavik waited. He was definitely younger; he stood straight now, taller than she was, and he held his cane more like a weapon than a crutch. She had the feeling that if she tried to steal or destroy one of these crystals, he would be fully capable of stopping her. Not that she ever would. Her instinct was to either turn and run, or fall to her knees and pray.

Only the strong of will could use them, he had said. Was she strong enough? If stubbornness was the same as strength, perhaps, but it was stubbornness that had driven her loved ones away. Was she the kind of inflexible that would break under pressure? On the other hand, she was also stubborn enough that she couldn’t bear to walk away. 

“All right.” She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her coat pockets. “Time to be surprised.”

“ _Qapla’_ ,” said Tenavik, saluting her.

“For B’Elanna!” she called, grasping the nearest crystal in both hands.

/

_She had never been so terrified or furious in her life as when she found herself on the Barge of the Dead, bound for Gre’thor. She was a faithful servant of Kahless, always had been, all the more so since John had abandoned her. Surely she didn’t deserve eternal torment?_

_When B’Elanna arrived and offered to take her place on the Barge, however, it all began to make a terrible kind of sense. Miral had been trapped in a Gre’thor of her own making for decades, consumed with anger at John and guilt for her failed marriage, and B’Elanna had suffered for it. Like L’Rell, this family had locked itself into a narrative of pain and betrayal, leaving the next generation with the burden of rewriting it._

_No more._

_Miral had had enough of making her daughter pay for her mistakes. They were both getting off this barge, no matter what it took._

_When B’Elanna threw her bat’leth into the sea, Miral had never been so proud of her. It took a true warrior to know when to stop fighting._

_“I will see you again.”_

_“In Sto’vo’qor?” her girl asked, a hopeful smile on her face._

_“In Sto’vo’qor … or maybe when you get home.”_

_Mother and daughter embraced against the stormy sky of the afterworld, as they hadn’t done since little Lanna was a child. She was so much taller now, but her fierce strength was the same._

/

When Miral let go of the crystal, her throat was hoarse and her whole body trembled. She had a headache worse than any bloodwine hangover, but she was triumphant. She remembered her daughter’s arms around her as vividly as anything in the real world. 

“Are you well?” Tenavik reached out to steady her with his hands on her shoulders. 

“I saw her, Brother.” She gripped his arms, smiling from ear to ear in her victory. “I held her. We were in Gre’thor, but she saved us both.”

“You are a brave woman, Miral daughter of L’Naan,” he said, letting go as soon as she could stand on her own. “May the blessing of Kahless fall upon you and all of your House.”

He smiled as he said this, but it was a sad smile, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he ever looked into time crystals himself. Did they show him visions of his parents? If they did, was it any compensation for never having known them in real life?

He escorted her back to the front entrance, growing older with every step. Before crossing the bridge and made her way back to her rented shuttle, the last thing she saw was Brother Tenavik’s white hair under his gray hood, and his white hand against the gray stone, held high in blessing and farewell.

She blessed him silently in return.


End file.
